The Inheritance Part IV

by Olivia Mayfield

  The Inheritance

  Part IV

  Olivia Mayfield

  INTERMIX BOOKS, NEW YORK

  INTERMIX BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

  penguin.com

  A Penguin Random House Company

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  THE INHERITANCE PART IV: THE SECRET

  An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  InterMix eBook edition / November 2013

  Copyright © 2013 by Rhonda Helms.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-62605-4

  INTERMIX

  InterMix Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group

  and New American Library, divisions of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  About the Author

  The Secret

  Chapter 19

  With shaking hands, Maggie draped his pants across the top of the bed. Her head throbbed from clenching her teeth so hard, and her eyes burned. She sat down, her feet dangling over the edge of the bed.

  Andrew had Joel’s phone number. And since he’d written Confirm time on the paper too, he must have already set up an appointment to talk. Andrew knew without a doubt that Joel was dead because she’d told him that awful night. He’d been so sympathetic, so understanding, helping her get over the shock and horror of seeing him lying dead his car. And then they’d had sex.

  So why hadn’t he said anything to her about talking to Joel while they were laying it all on the line? Several days had passed since the accident—murder?—and yet not one word from him on it, despite plenty of opportunities.

  A dark thought niggled in the back of her mind, one she didn’t want to hear right now. She pressed her hands to her stomach, trying to get that horrible seed of doubt out of her head. No, there was no way in hell Andrew had been involved in Joel’s death. What would be his motive?

  Unless Joel knew something that Andrew didn’t want Maggie to know . . . about Andrew’s involvement in Cassandra’s disappearance. Andrew had admitted to being at the party. Was there more he was holding back?

  Her lungs sawed air in and out, and she gripped the edges of the bedspread. Things were getting far too crazy in her brain.

  Blinking back a sudden welling of bitter tears, she threw on her pants and swiped at her face. She would not cry over Andrew for any reason—not one more damned tear would be shed for this man who preached honesty but practiced deception. She’d let her walls down, had let him back into her life, and look what happened? God, she’d been an idiot.

  Her stomach was a mass of knots, but she ignored it as she slipped back into her sweater. Maggie refused to look back at the bed, at the mussed sheets from their sex, their mingled scent still lingering in the air.

  For a moment she debated slipping out without saying a word, but that was the cowardly way. She wanted to see his face right now when she confronted him with the paper, to hear whatever he’d say. Gripping the paper in her hand, she made her way to the bathroom door. Steam slid out of the shower, and Andrew kept on singing some old song. Totally oblivious to her inner turmoil.

  Her stomach tightened into a painful knot. “I need you to come out here,” she said.

  He poked his head out of the shower, the faint smile sliding from his face when he saw her. His eyes flooded with concern. “Hey, you okay?”

  “No, I’m not okay.” Her hands trembled, and she tucked them into her pockets, the paper folded in her palm still.

  He stared at her with a knitted brow. “Okay, hold on. Let me rinse off.”

  She gave a curt nod then stepped out of the bathroom, moving into his living room. She didn’t want to be in this intimate room anymore. Neutral ground for this discussion.

  How could Andrew not tell her he’d talked to Joel before the man had died? She felt crushed. There was a small part of her that felt hypocritical at the same time. After all, how much stuff had she kept from him when they’d first started this partnership?

  But not anymore. She’d actually dropped her guard, had updated him on everything she’d been doing. Stupid, stupid her.

  A few minutes later, Andrew emerged into the living room, wearing a pair of low-slung jeans, a fitted white T-shirt, damp tendrils clinging to his forehead as he dried his hair. “What’s going on, Maggie? What happened while I was showering?”

  She bit her lip. “Look, I . . .” Clearing her throat, she said, “I found something. And I wasn’t sure what to make of it.” Come on, just say it. “I saw Joel’s number in your pants pocket,” she finally spat out.

  He froze then dropped his arms to his side, the towel dangling on the floor beside him. “What?”

  “Joel. The guy who died in the car accident. When I picked up your pants to help tidy up the room a bit . . . well, a piece of paper slipped out of the pocket, and I saw his number written on it. Plus you wrote ‘Confirm time’ underneath it.” Her face burned with anger and embarrassment as she dug the number out of her pocket and thrust it toward him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were talking to him?”

  “Because I hadn’t,” he said, confusion pouring into his voice. His brow was furrowed. He took the paper, looked at it then back at her. “I never talked to the guy. I got his number from somewhere and was going to call, but . . . well, you know. He died before I got a chance. The ‘Confirm time’ thing was because I had a few different times free to meet him, and I wanted to see if he could fit in any of those.”

  A part of her wanted to believe him. But was he as trustworthy as he sounded? He seemed sincerely confused and irritated right now. Then again, emotions could be faked. “Why didn’t you tell me you were even going to talk to him, then?” she countered.

  “What exactly are you accusing me of, Maggie?” There was no mistaking the anger in his voice now. The words were clipped. His eyes flared as he narrowed them in her direction.

  Her hackles went up, and she crossed her arms over her chest. Her heart fluttered madly against her rib cage. “I just want to know why you didn’t say anything. All this time we’ve been
talking about honesty, being open and forthcoming on all evidence, and you didn’t tell me.”

  “There was nothing to tell about him,” he bit out. “Like I said, the guy got in an accident before we could get a chance to talk. In fact, I’d forgotten all about that number. It was a nonissue.”

  Was he telling the truth? It sounded so simple, so plausible.

  But something in her gut held her back from accepting it at face value. Andrew didn’t seem like a guy who’d just “forget” something case related. He was a lawyer, for God’s sake. That was what they were supposed to do—retain, analyze. “It just . . . it looked weird to me,” she finally said.

  He huffed a sigh then raked a hand through his damp hair. “I have no reason to lie to you about this, Maggie.”

  Oh, but he did. Ten million reasons, to be precise. And this incident just reminded her that despite their tentative agreement, in the end they were competitors. The only person she could trust one hundred percent right now was herself.

  His eyes slitted and his voice was low as he said, “Wait. Is this whole argument really about Joel or is it about something else?”

  Her stomach jumped. “Like what?”

  “You don’t believe my explanation. I can see it written all over your face. And I have to wonder if it’s because of how things ended with us back in high school. That you don’t trust me because of our past—you think I’m lying to you.”

  Angry tears surged to her eyes, and she blinked. No, she was not going to shed them here. She was going to keep her pride and her heart intact, at least right now. “What? No, I’m not making this about that.” But was she?

  She had to admit, being with him again had ripped open those small stings she’d experienced as a teen, emotions she’d shoved into a little tiny corner of her heart. She’d tried to talk to him after their breakup, but he’d ignored her. Had avoided the places they used to go. It was like she didn’t exist to him.

  He’d pushed her away when he didn’t want her anymore. Who’s to say he wouldn’t do the same thing again when this case was over?

  “It just seems too coincidental to believe,” she continued. “And you’ve shut me out before.” The words flew out before she could stop them.

  Andrew’s frustrated scoff rang loud in the room, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Seriously? I’ve already apologized for what I did, and I won’t have that flung in my face. I made a mistake—a big one. I was wrong, and I was a stupid, scared kid. I can’t change the past.”

  “No, you can’t.” Her voice rose along with his, and an angry flush heated her cheeks. “But you know what? You ditched me. I was in the worst moment in my life, and I went through it without you.” The swell of pained emotion that she’d crammed back for years came rushing like a tidal wave through her.

  Andrew went very still, his jaw ticking.

  “You disappeared on me. My family was hurting, and we were all dealing with Cassandra in our own way. When I needed you most, you made me feel like shit by pretending I wasn’t even alive. And then I come back in town and you tell me you want to partner with me to find her, and I start trusting you again, letting down my guard . . .” Her throat choked, and she couldn’t say anymore. She turned her attention from his face and slipped into her shoes.

  “Maggie,” he started, stepping toward her.

  She backed away. “I . . . have to go,” she said, her throat clenching with her tears. She had to get a hold of herself and her emotions. She hadn’t meant to spill all of that right now, but it was there, and apparently she hadn’t let it go like she’d thought. Regardless, this case wasn’t about her. Andrew was proving to be a dangerous distraction from what was important—her sister’s case. And not only was he a distraction, he was a possible hazard to her investigation.

  His jaw tightened. “I don’t want things to end like this,” he said, and the thread of hurt in his voice made her heart pinch.

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered past the tightness in her lungs. She needed to get out of this condo, get some fresh air, try to figure out what was true and what was a lie. Because she was afraid she wasn’t going to get that from Andrew.

  Grabbing her purse, she swept by him and out the door, not looking back.

  The ride home was long and painful. Each mile of separation did nothing to ease her anguish. What exactly did Andrew have to do with the events in this case? He hadn’t been on any of the police reports, had flat-out said to her that he wasn’t involved that night, despite being at the party. But he was keeping secrets from Maggie—she knew that much now for sure. It was the wording on the paper that was throwing her off. He said it meant one thing, but her head said it could easily mean another.

  With a wave of anger, she slammed the heel of her hand against the steering wheel, letting out another small curse from the biting sting on her palm. She was an idiot to trust him. Even at the very least, assuming he was as innocent about Cassandra as he claimed to be, he hadn’t mentioned word one of talking to Joel. Why?

  Her phone vibrated on the seat beside her. She glanced at her caller ID. Speak of the devil—Andrew was calling her. She let it go through to voice mail.

  Maybe she was overreacting but she needed time. Time and perspective. Being around him, not being able to trust he was being honest had flared up all of those suppressed emotions. And despite the fact that she’d finally been able to say to him all those things that had hurt her in their past, she didn’t feel any better.

  It was dark outside, and her car was still chilly, so Maggie cranked up the heat. She popped in a CD of classical music, wanting the distraction. Debussy’s lyrical compositions filled the cab, and she made herself hum along.

  For a brief moment, she felt almost normal.

  ***

  That night seemed to drag on. Maggie tossed and turned in bed, consumed with thoughts of Andrew. Could she believe his explanation? It sounded sketchy at best. Why wouldn’t he have written “Ask about time” instead?

  It was unbearable, letting her guard down only to be filled with doubt once again about him. Back to square one.

  But not quite, because since returning for the funeral, she’d gotten to know him again. Remember why she’d fallen so hard for him as a stupid teen, despite the way he’d crushed her heart post-breakup. And those memories wouldn’t give her a moment’s peace.

  She also couldn’t stop thinking about Joel’s death. After leaving Andrew’s house, Maggie had called the officer who’d responded to Joel’s accident-slash-murder. She’d informed him of her progress so far in her sister’s case, thin as it was, and asked if they’d found any evidence yet regarding who’d run Joel off the road. He’d said he didn’t have a possible suspect identified yet, but he’d promised to call if he had further questions.

  Who had run Joel off the road? No matter how many times she tried to wrap her mind around the situation, the pieces kept slipping through her fingers. She hadn’t noticed any damage to the other competitors’ cars, though it was possible one of them had hidden the vehicle away.

  She stared blankly at the ceiling for a long time before slipping into a restless slumber.

  ***

  Joel walked up to Maggie in the Huntington Beach parking lot. It was pitch-black outside, with a couple of parking lot streetlights casting yellow circles on the asphalt, but she could hear a few birds chirping. An odd clash with the icy winds that bit at her skin beneath her thick coat.

  He tugged a black jacket closer to his body and stopped a few feet from her. His eyes were flat and his face smooth and young, like how he’d looked back in school. “You know,” he said in a strangled whisper. The yellow light made his skin appear sallow.

  “What do I know?” She reached out to touch his upper arm, but he flinched and pulled back, giving a slow shake of his head.

  His mouth stretched into a slow smile. “The answers. You know them.”

  A light fog floated in, wafting around their ankles. The wind died down, and the birds
stopped chirping.

  Joel stepped closer to her, just a foot away now. This close, she could see that something was off about his face. A slow drip of blood began oozing from his brow, slicking down his forehead and coating his eye.

  Her breath shallowed, and she wanted to step back but couldn’t move. Fear hammered her heart against her rib cage. “I can’t figure it out,” she said.

  His face grew deathly pale, and he froze, eyes locked on hers. The smile fell from his face, and his expression was now pained, stretched in distorted agony. “It’s all in here,” he barely whispered, his arm rising slowly between them.

  When his fingertip brushed her temple, a blinding flash of light burst through her head.

  Maggie flinched awake, cold and frightened. She was lying on top of her covers, blanket shoved to the foot of the bed. With hurried movements she pulled the blanket back up and slipped between the chilled sheets, trying to control her shaking.

  This was getting messed up. The case was screwing with her mind. Why else would she be dreaming about Joel?

  Or maybe her mind was trying to tell her something.

  She swallowed, tucking the covers right under her chin. Stupid as it was, she missed the peace she’d found in Andrew’s bed, by his side. The couple of times she’d slept overnight at his condo, she hadn’t had one nightmare. Just quiet, peaceful rest.

  God help her, she needed a break in this case soon or else she’d never get any sleep. Maggie reached over to her bedside table and popped a melatonin with a half-empty glass of water. She hated relying on medication, but she was desperate to rest. Twenty minutes or so passed, and her mind grew drowsy, her body languid.

  And then blessed sleep at last.

  ***

  The next couple of days passed in a rush. Maggie got slammed with some redesign work on the client website, which kept her busy, much to her relief. When she wasn’t working, she was hanging out with her mom. Both of them were using each other and random, pointless errands as distractions from their own personal agonies.